Pro Patria Mori
by Chibizoo
Summary: It is proper and noble to die for one's country'. The spirit of the Millennium Puzzle glimpses a flashback of his memory, though some things are best left forgotten... [sadism warning]


Author's notes:  
  
Disclaimer: I will never have the pleasure of owning Yu-gi-oh, well, as long as Kazuki Takahashi is alive, that is.  
  
Info: Project Yu-gi-oh has a new fanfic contest (go to: yugiohfanfiction.20deep.net)! Please check my bio for more details.  
  
As a self-advertisement for my fanfic contest, I have posted this fanfic up as a stupid, generic model of what falls under the contest requirements. This is a stupid, generic, model. Please don't write like this.  
  
Warning: Sadism, violence, blood, twisted scenes. Nothing out of the ordinary *shrugs*  
  
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Contest topic: Choose an antagonist. Make him the main character. Or, just write about any main character being "evil".  
  
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Dulce et Decorum est Pro Patria Mori [It is proper and noble to die for one's country]  
  
He snarled even as the back of his head collided with the hard stone tablet, starbursts infiltrating his vision. Eyes involuntarily watering, he fixated his cobalt blue irises on the other.  
  
The other, the Pharaoh, only smirked, a plain expression twisted by malevolence until it seemed a fanatical grin. "Go ahead and scream, Seto. This is just the beginning of the price you pay for betraying me."  
  
"Ra damn you!" the High Priest spat, a mixture of blood and saliva splattering violently on the Pharaoh's Millennium Puzzle. It stayed there, dripping downwards the golden relic in an amorphous mass of swirling red, collecting into a single drop at the bottom of the Puzzle. "Damn you to eternity!  
  
"But Seto, don't you know?" Another chuckle, equally dark, infested by hatred and lust. "I _am_ Ra, Seto. I am the living god. I am Pharaoh and everyone obeys me."  
  
The brown-haired priest strained against his constraints. Cords, tied around his arm, wrists, waist, neck, and ankles. They bit into his skin, spreading a shallow red rash where they didn't draw blood. Again and again, Seto struggled, his actions more vehement and frantic with every moment that passed. The cords were unyielding, strapping the High Priest firmly on the horizontal tablet.  
  
The Pharaoh chuckled. "The High Priest sacrifices souls to the gods." He turned around, ruby cloak flowing behind him, grabbing a thin dagger from an array of glimmering, silver-bright weapons behind him. "But the Pharaoh _is_ God, and the Pharaoh demands the final sacrifice, the sacrifice of the High Priest himself."  
  
Seto inhaled sharply. His shirt had been crudely torn off after his defeat against the Pharaoh; of what had been the High Priest's last attempt to salvage the fallen kingdom of Egypt. He was exposed, lying on a mock- alter, hands, legs and body tied up in cords like a sacrificial lamb.  
  
The Pharaoh licked his lips and a tinge of pure red flared within his deep scarlet irises. "Let the sacrifice for the Pharaoh begin."  
  
The hilt of the dagger was held firmly within the Pharaoh's right hand. He raised the small weapon slowly, trailing the fine bladed tip lightly against the High Priest's skin, arching it across the blue-eyed prisoner's chest, up his left arm until it rested against the High Priest's wrist. A light trickle of blood had already begun to follow the cut, spilling against the priest's skin like thick ink on naked papyrus.  
  
Clearly tantalizing and taunting, the Pharaoh toyed with his dagger blade, hand twisting to move the weapon up and over the cords that bound Seto's right wrist. Then, with a sheer act of whim, he twisted his arm, dagger gleaming ruby as it dug fiercely into Seto's forearm.  
  
The High Priest bit his lip to hide his shock. Had he really expected any less? No, he would not give in to the Pharaoh. He would die with honour.  
  
The Pharaoh slowly brought the blade to his lips, careful not to move the flat edge of the blade too much and displace the blood balancing on its keen silver surface. He extended his tongue and lapped up the blood, tip of his tongue wrapping around the liquid before moving it delicately into his mouth.  
  
"I know what you're thinking, High Priest. That you'll die with honour and that you will be avenged by the gods." The Pharaoh smirked, turning his dagger around, licking off the scarlet liquid that had trickled to the bottom side of the blade. "But there is no vengeance for you. You had your chance at it, and you were defeated. _I_ am god, and I am here to make you pay the price for your vengeance."  
  
First was the incision at the stomach. The Pharaoh pressed the blade firmly against the High Priest's soft, sweating skin, dragging it from the pelvis upwards. The tip of the blade snagged cosily into the exposed belly, tearing apart the thin veil of skin to reveal a moist layer of soft pink flesh underneath. Blood gleefully followed in rising crimson gushes along the path of the blade.  
  
Seto's body involuntarily twitched from the pain, and yet, he did not scream. He would not show any signs of weakness, even in defeat.  
  
The Pharaoh simply shrugged and peered too keenly at the thick line he had etched on the High Priest's stomach. He suddenly swept both hands towards the cut, pressing his fingers inwards. There was a horrible grind and crackle of sinew as flesh and blood parted at the Pharaoh's persistent fingers. And still he continued to shove his fingers deeper into the wound, penetrating the more stubborn edges of flesh with a few flicks of his dagger blade.  
  
Seto grunted, scream dying in his throat. Already, blindness was plaguing his vision, a blissful unconsciousness at the very edges of his agony-infested mind. The nerves around his stomach screamed as the Pharaoh tore into them, to the point where even the screaming seemed an echo compared to the pain they elicited.  
  
The High Priest felt something wriggling within his body, shoving into his delicate organ structure. He dared to focus his eyes, to gain consciousness and stay forever defiant against the corrupted Pharaoh, but it was already too late.  
  
He did however, manage to get a good look at the Pharaoh. The other was holding something soft and flexible curled around his bloodied fingers. If Seto's mind had been conscious just a bit longer, he would have seen more of the very same flexible, long, jelly-like substance being pulled out of his stomach.  
  
The Pharaoh watched the High Priest's descent into unconsciousness - and death - in disdain. He would have expected someone like the High Priest to at least last a bit longer. A pity. The Pharaoh yanked out the rest of the High Priest's intestines, pulling harshly as he reached the snag at the end. He quickly collected the entire squirming bundle in his arms. Mucus and blood dripped in splatters onto the cold marble floor.  
  
Eyes eerily calm and indifferent, the Pharaoh dumped the bundle into a large casket before coming back to his target. Next, he sliced the dagger deeper into the High Priest's chest, exerting all his strength to break through the thick diaphragm and between the muscles of the ribcage before arriving at his target. Fingers deftly plunged in again, pulling out the still-beating heart, intertwined with cords of veins and arteries. Slice slice. The heart landed neatly into his free hand and he put the delicate, still weakly-pumping organ in another jar.  
  
And now the last part. The part that represented the very image of a human. The Pharaoh looked at the semi-clouded azure eyes of the High Priest, complete with full lips, lustrous dark chestnut hair, and tanned complexion. Yes, the head definitely had to go. No one could have a head that rivalled the beauty of the Pharaoh's, especially not the High Priest's.  
  
He plunged the small blade deep into the High Priest's throat, twisting against the sinews and flesh that protested against his weapon, digging the dagger deeper until his hand itself was buried inside the squelching flesh. The rough hiss and purr of flesh tore and parted, white-flecked sinews snapping around the sea of ever-present crimson.  
  
His dagger continued to dig until it hit something hard and stuck. The Pharaoh forced his muscles to work against the obstruction, burying his hilt deeper, ignoring the blood pumping out of the thick gash. His fingers tore and ripped the few sinews of flesh and skin that blocked him from seeing the obstruction clearly.  
  
There, at the bottom of the deep cut was a thin, gleaming layer of white. Snarling at the stubborn, unyielding bit of flesh, the Pharaoh angrily stabbed at the white layer, the single layer gleaming even when soaked in blood.  
  
And then he realized what it was. Of course. So that was why the head was still connected.  
  
The Pharaoh gently laid his bloodied dagger to one side, running his left index and forefinger along the blade to clean out the chunks of veins and severed sinews. He wiped the collected gelatinous mass off on his ruby- cloak and then cradled the late High Priest's half-severed head in his hands.  
  
The Pharaoh's hands twitched, and his arms trembled. He pressed a bloodied hand to his sweating forehead. It was exhausting, this work. He had been too keen on watching the High Priest's tortured expression and had not made a clean work of his experiment.  
  
Then, with renewed determination, he plunged his free hand deep into his handiwork. Both hands seized a firm grip on the lacerated neck and twisted. There was a resounding snap, and the High Priest's head suddenly pitched forwards, falling until it hit his chest. Only a single layer of sinew and skin allowed the head to dangle awkwardly, splurting blood, ends a gaping maw of crimson and dark maroon.  
  
The Pharaoh picked up the blade and ran it straight through the mere skin connecting the dangling head.  
  
Glassy blue eyes fell onto the ground, accompanied by a face forever set in an expression of despair and betrayal.  
  
Soon the eyes too disappeared as the Pharaoh kicked the head and watched it loll satisfyingly into the shadows, leaving only a trail of blood behind.  
  
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"Good morning Duelists. The Battle Ship semi-finals will begin in half an hour. All duelists please make their way to the main lobby of the ship."  
  
From his Soul Room, the spirit within the Millennium Puzzle snapped into awareness, freed from the imprisonments of his dream. No, it was not a dream but a flashback - spirits such as he simply did not dream.  
  
He looked around the corridors of stairs plaguing his soul room, frustration and despair churning in his belly. He had forgot about the flashback the moment he remembered it.  
  
There was a gentle knock on the spirit's soul room door. Slowly, the door opened, and a pair of large violet eyes peered in from the entrance.  
  
"It's morning already. I thought I'd tell you that its time for us to get going." Yuugi suddenly frowned, concerned at his other's frustrated expression. "You okay, mou hitori no boku [1]?"  
  
The spirit of the Millennium Puzzle rubbed his throbbing forehead. "Its all right. I just have the feeling that I just forgot something really important from my memories as Pharaoh."  
  
Yuugi smiled brightly and looked up at the spirit of the Millennium Puzzle, the nameless Pharaoh who ruled almost three-thousand years ago, memories sealed in time. "It's okay, mou hitori no boku. I promise you that you'll get your memories back. We'll get them back together!"  
  
A chilling feeling crawling down the Pharaoh's spine but he forced a smile. He would be strong for those he loved, for those he had learned to trust as companions and friends. "Yes, Yuugi. We'll win this tournament and find my memories for sure!"  
  
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[1] Mou hitori no boku - what Yuugi calls Yami  
  
End notes: A big thanks to Pikachumaniac (PM-sama) for reading this, and Tenshimagic for giving me a rundown of my basic pronouns :)  
  
Dedicated to all those random fangirls who just _so_ enjoy my random comments of headlessness and Bags of Mass Destruction and whatnot. 


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